Champions of the Deep part 2: Shaping of a Company
by Brother Andyn
Summary: Welcome to Champions of the Deep, a tale of darkness and treachery, of goldlust and adventure in the perilous mountains.


Shaping of a Company 

Being the second part of:

Champions of the Deep 

Scribed by Brother Andyn

**VIII**

**The Legacy of Grimthar**

Ulfric had just taken another swig from his tankard when the doors to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern burst open and a cloaked, hooded figure rushed through, slamming the doors behind him. Quickly, he moved to the nearest window, obviously checking to see if he was being pursued. Ulfric leaned forward, intrigued. Then the figure seemed to relax, as if breathing a sigh of relief, and then turned to face the common room. A grim face peered out from the cowl, menacing and resolute. The man ignored the stares from the other patrons and strode importantly to the bar, calling for ale.

'One ale comin' right up, father,' the barkeeper replied. He handed the cloaked man an overflowing tankard.

'Over here, stranger,' Ulfric roared, 'surely you have a tale to tell.'

'And who are you, to intrude upon my business, Kislevite?'

The man sat down at the Champions' table, regarding Ulfric and Deraphin intensely.

'One who would defeat a priest of Morr!' Ulfric grabbed up the newcomer's forearm and slammed it down on the tabletop. The other man took this new challenge with interest, levering his own arm up, and the arm-wrestle began.

'I am no servant of the death god,' he began, flexing his arm muscles, 'I am Maximus, the Mangler. Who are you, and who is your companion?'

'I am Ulfric, Tracker and Leader of the Champions of the Deep,' Ulfric grunted, gritting his teeth as Maximus slowly pushed the Kislevite's arm towards the table. 'And this is Deraphin, previously of Athel Loren.'

With a bellow, Maximus smashed Ulfric's forearm down with an audible crunch.

'Well Ulfric, it would seem that you are no match for the likes of the Mangler.'

'Who are you really, and why the disguise?'

Maximus grinned, feeling what was coming on. 'Swear that you will not speak of this to anyone.'

'Steady on, Maximus, you can trust us,' Ulfric replied. 'In fact, we are in need of men like yourself…why not join us, and become a Champion? Venturing beneath the mountains of the World's Edge, slaying evil beasts and earning gold and glory – does any of that appeal to you?'

Maximus paused for a moment, thinking hard. Journeys to the Worlds Edge Mountains would result in much time away from Altdorf, therefore greatly reducing any chances of him being found.

'I accept,' he said gruffly. 'I will join you.' He then launched into the tale of his story, telling them how he had once trained as a soldier but had been forced into the Fighting Pit, and then of his daring escape.

'Then I found this secluded tavern in the south-eastern quarter of Altdorf,' Maximus concluded. 'I'm sure adventure awaits us.'

Aethys dismounted and led his horse into the adjoining stables. He entered the tavern, and walked over to the bar. Around him, faces turned, talking stopped, the atmosphere became tense. Aethys ignored them.

'Blue wine,' he said dismissively, then glanced at the men staring. Unable to hold his penetrating, intelligent blue gaze, they resumed their banter and the warmth returned to the common room of Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern.

The walls were old and battered, but had an ancient, powerful feel to them. A ragged looking notice board adorned one wall, blistered with all manner of crude advertisements. But one stood out, superior to all the others, its message bright and clear to Aethys' eyes.

'WANTED,' it said, 'more men, to travel deep beneath ye Worlde's Edge Mountaines, in searche of gold & gloree.' That was the part Aethys was interested in, but below it also said something about being for hire.

'Will do quests, for any reasonable amount of gold. Will find that ancient jewel, that magic sword, that olde talisman. Hyre us – Ye Champions of the Deep.'

'Hmmm…' Aethys mused. 'At last, I've found them.'

'I bring word from the girl Celeste,' Aethys Starblade told Ulfric as he sat talking with Maximus the Mangler. 'She says to give you this.'

The elf ranger threw a heavy bag down on the table, clinking.

'A pity she could not grace us with her presence,' Ulfric growled, opening the leather pouch. He gasped, and poured the contents out, spilling gold crowns across the table's surface. 'How many…'

'Five hundred, exactly,' Aethys smiled. 'Celeste was preoccupied with…other matters.' Ulfric eyed the elf suspiciously. Tall, blue-eyed and with raven-black hair, he was dressed in a short tunic of scale mail and a blue cloak, his clothes adorned with gems that sparkled and gleamed in the tavern's light. As if on cue, the elf spoke proudly.

'And now I demand that you enlist me on your side, in the coming adventure.'

'You what!' Spat the Kislevite, stunned.

Maximus lowered the hood from his head, and grimaced, menacingly. 'Need any help in removing this…upstart?'

Deraphin slitted his eyes, but remained silent.

'I said…' Aethys continued.

'I heard what you said, Elf,' Ulfric spluttered, 'and we _are_ looking for warriors, but what makes you think we need the help of one of your kind? We've already got Deraphin here for a bit of _cultural diversity_…'

Maximus rolled up his robe sleeves and flexed his muscles.

'I am a mage,' Aethys stated quickly. 'I know you lost your Sorcerer, and have need of another magic-user. I promise I will make as good a wizard as the traitor Dieter Zauberlich.'

'How do you know these things?' Deraphin spoke.

'Allow me to explain, and I will.'

Ulfric calmed himself, and considered the worth of having an Elf Mage alongside them in battle. True, they had lost their sorcerer, and may need magical support…

'All right, Elf,' he said, 'be seated, and we'll listen.'

Two days later the adventurers were on their way to a cave system, located in the Great Forest outside Talabheim, where it was rumoured the beast that had slain Grimthar Ironhelm had its abode. Maximus was decked out in proper, fighting gear, and was eager to kill the fiend and retrieve his father's magical sword of power. Unfortunately, Deraphin had not been able to accompany them, due to a strange illness that had come over him the previous night. Ulfric was not impressed, cursing the Gods, for it seemed that they had gained and lost men. The adventure would not be the same without Deraphin.

It was not long until the party tracked down the Minotaur, for that is what it was, where it hulked in a forgotten fighting pit, deep below the earth. Other creatures had died before the fury of Maximus, and aided by Aethys Starblade and Ulfric, he had carved his way through the dungeons to finally face his father's slayer.

Maximus charged into the beast, and a vicious battle ensued, in which he fought valorously, and so proved himself a great addition to the Champions of the Deep. Aethys was confirmed a worthy mage when he healed the Pit Fighter so that he could deal the deathblow to the Minotaur, and avenge his father. Grimthar's sword was discovered on the far side of the pit floor, grimy and covered in dried blood and rust. However, soon Maximus had it cleaned up and the blade shone in the sunlight like a newly forged weapon, glinting, ancient runes engraved in gold on its surface. Maximus named this brilliant artefact the Sword of Grimthar.

Deraphin was still ailing when the warriors returned, and Aethys organised a doctor to come and care for the elf, whilst they set off on their next quest – to identify the cadaver of a dead noble in a Tomb below the Grey Crag, in the Worlds Edge Mountains. It was an inheritance dispute between two Imperial Lords, and the Champions were promised good pay, in gold crowns.

The greenskins infested the deeps like maggots in a corpse, as if Fate had decreed that their mission would be beset by death at every turn. Finally, after the slaughter of many, many goblins by the devastating magic of Aethys' Shockwave, the warriors heaved off the lid of the tomb to reveal the skeleton within. It had no teeth, and so having identified the body, they returned to the surface to claim their rewards. House Luckstein, an honourable family, paid them richly, and let on the knowledge that if it had belonged to House Bravia, whose Lord was a scheming, arrogant individual, they would have received nothing for their endeavours. Ulfric thanked the Lord of Luckstein gratefully, and the Champions travelled back to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern, where Deraphin lay in poor health.

Maximus expressed his needs to train, and so he did, to the sounds of clashing steel. Surely Grimthar Ironhelm had left a great legacy in the form of his son, Maximus the Mangler.

Aethys reminded Ulfric of the bounty on the head of Corlos, ex-member of the Avenging Angels, who Ulfric had agreed to hunt down and capture. Ulfric then resolved that they would not accept any more quests until they had hunted the elf bastard down and dragged him to Ladril, so that it was certain that the Avenging Angels Mentor would give them another hundred gold crowns.

**IX**

**Rediscoveries**

'Deraphin is still unwell. Ulfric, we must postpone the hunting of Corlos, unless you wish to proceed without him.'

Aethys sat before the Kislevite, in Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern.

'Grrr…' Ulfric growled. 'Very well. Have you heard anything?'

'Fortunately, I was approached by Count Dukar, offering a great price if we complete a quest for him.'

'Go on,' Ulfric rumbled, interested.

'Three months passed, the Dwarfs gifted Dukar with an enchanted sword. But on the way back, from Mount Grimfang, his bodyguards were all killed and he barely escaped with his life. The sword was taken from him. Now he wants us to recover it. He will pay richly for its return.'

'It seems like a petty mission to me,' Ulfric grunted, 'but…we'll do it.'

They had fought their way through the bowels of Mount Grimfang, battling greenskins and finding gold and trinkets. The orc chieftain lay with his head severed and Ulfric had the sword in its ornate scabbard. They were on their way out when a voice called from the darkness.

'Over here! Help! Over here, laddies!'

Immediately, Aethys and Maximus readied their weapons and crept closer to investigate.

'It's a dwarf,' the elf spat distastefully, then bowed his head. 'Forgive me, Durgaz, I did not expect one such as yourself to be imprisoned here.'

Maximus looked from the ranger to the shackled lord, then back again.

'You two know each other?' He was incredulous.

'Indeed,' the lord grumbled, 'I was one of the warriors attacked by the damnable elves they call 'Druchii,' masquerading as High Elves. At the time, I didn't know the difference, but then Aethys here supported our protests against the _Phoenix King_.' He spat the last words out as if they befouled his mouth.

'I did,' Aethys stated, his eyes closed, remembering. 'I saw the Druchii for what they were, but the fool Caledor didn't listen. But how did you get captured?'

'Damn it, Starblade, get me out of here, and I might find it within me to tell you!'

Ulfric unsheathed the count's magical sword and ambled over. Pushing his way past Aethys and Maximus, he smashed the lock on the cell door with one blow, then strode inside to sever the cuffs on the dwarf's wrists.

'This is a good blade,' he mused, 'if the reward was not so great, I might have a mind to keep it for myself.' He chuckled, then offered the lord his forearm.

'Ulfric, Tracker, and leader of the Champions of the Deep.'

'Durgaz Grimblade, Lord of Karak Azul. I sincerely thank ye all for this honourable deed.'

'Maximus the Mangler,' the ex-pit fighter introduced himself, and Durgaz shook forearms.

'Well, first I would ask what your business is here, in this dark realm,' Durgaz began. 'Surely you are not sent from Karak-Azul?'

'We are not,' Aethys replied, 'but we did discover many dwarf bodies around the foot of Grimfang.'

'Ah,' Durgaz exclaimed, 'that would clarify why I am still here.'

'We came from Altdorf, and Count Dukar, to retrieve this sword,' Ulfric said gruffly.

'As to my own quest,' Durgaz continued, 'I and a band of Ironbreakers were headed for Iron Rock, where it is now known lies an ancient shrine, below the Orc Fortress. We were to destroy it, to prevent it falling into orc hands, but they ambushed us. Many were killed. I was taken prisoner and for two weeks have been languishing in this dungeon. Again, I thank ye for coming to my rescue.'

'Where exactly is this shrine?'

They all looked at the Kislevite.

'We cannot undertake another quest at this time,' Aethys huffed, 'it is our duty to return the sword safely.'

'But maybe we could destroy the shrine on the way back,' Maximus said, 'I'm sure Durgaz would pay us more handsomely than Dukar.'

'Hmmm…indeed I would,' the dwarf lord replied, 'for I stashed some of my gold in a secret place, we were attacked, and the other Lords of Karak-Azul would also express their gratefulness and reward you.'

'Durgaz, with all due respect…'

Ulfric cut Aethys off. 'We'll do it. Point us in the right direction, and…'

'I will lead you,' Durgaz waved a hand dismissively. 'After all, I have no guards to escort me back to Karak-Azul.'

'Fair enough choice,' Aethys voiced, and Maximus nodded agreement.

The Count regarded them stonily as they trooped across the city's threshold, into Altdorf.

As the Champions, accompanied by Durgaz Grimblade, met with Dukar, the stern, gaunt man reprimanded them.

'You are three weeks late. You said you would return my family's sword…'

'Shut yer gob, you old fool,' Durgaz bellowed. 'What matters is that they've returned your damned knife.'

Ulfric threw down the scabbarded weapon down at Dukar's feet.

'Payment?' Aethys held out a gloved hand. Dukar gritted his teeth.

'Fifty gold crowns, as promised.' He dropped a leather pouch and strode away. The elf caught it before it could hit the cobbles.

The proud warriors sauntered back to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern, laden with Dukar's coins and the vastly outnumbering gold of Iron Rock.

'So, this is your establishment,' Durgaz said with awe as they approached. It was a clean, white building, located in the southeast quarter. The tiled rooves were red and a couple of towers branched off from the main building. A Stables was attached on one side and on the other lay a walled park, resplendent with green grass, stone statues and pine trees.

'This is home,' Aethys concluded.

**X**

**Duties**

Over the next several months, Ulfric, Maximus and Aethys carried out minor quests for three relatively unimportant individuals: a grey-bearded old wizard requesting them to return a jade staff to the hand of an obscure statue beneath the Black Mountains; a deposed Dwarf Lord of Karak Azgal by the name of Skalfson, who asked them to desecrate an evil temple guarded by Dark Elves; and a stingy but wealthy merchant who needed the Champions to retrieve pure waters from a mystical, pure fountain in the Worlds Edge Mountains, in order to cure him from the most deadly of diseases: Nurgle's Rot. The strength of Deraphin finally returned when he too was cured, Maximus reasoning that if these waters could heal Von Rotundus, Deraphin would be back to normal in next to no time. However, Ulfric seemed strangely lethargic after his final discussion with the fat merchant. The party had also been richly rewarded by the Dwarf Lords of Karak Azul, after Durgaz Grimblade had arranged to return there.

After the culmination of these events, the Patron God of the Empire, Sigmar Heldenhammer, chose to reveal himself to Maximus. The Pit Fighter had deemed himself worthy by his concerns for the unwell elf, and thus enlightened, Maximus stood tall, vowing to uphold the god's divinity and knew he should do no wrong.

Corlos, the elf bandit, remained uncaught, the Champions clearly having forgotten about that task altogether.

Maximus sat with Aethys at a table in Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern. Ulfric had apparently gone off to sleep, and Deraphin was on the other side of the common room, flirting with the ladies. He was taking full advantage of the fact that he had been cured. The company was in good shape – rich, its members healthy and satisfied, and ready to take on new quests by the end of next week.

'So, there is something you would have me know?' Aethys raised his right eyebrow.

'Yes…Sigmar. Uh, I…I saw Sigmar,' Maximus grunted. 'It was…quite morally strengthening. But I noticed another, shadowy presence standing to the left and slightly behind the God. Like Sigmar, he was tall, strong and heavily muscled, bare-chested and garbed in furs, boots and a long, fur cloak. But this man…perhaps it was the 'Kevlon' that Ulfric so often speaks of.'

'Yes,' Aethys replied, 'he's…he's watching…'

**XI**

**Befouled Leadership**

For one month quests came and went, completed with little trouble. The party grew richer, and content with their life of daring deeds and high adventure. But it was the quiet before the storm. Ulfric became withdrawn, and sullen, his moods changing rapidly and uncharacteristically. He was embroiled in a constant, silent rage, snapping at the other warriors for the smallest annoyances. Kevlon no longer seemed to be watching, and if he was, he did not like what he saw. Aethys suspected something amiss, his naturally heightened senses combined with his magical awareness enabling him to detect such things, and Deraphin, too, smelled a rat. A very filthy one indeed.

It was during the next adventure, deep below the mountains, on a quest to restore the ancient heirloom of a particular noble, that Ulfric's true allegiance finally surfaced. It was Deraphin who had first noticed the Kislevite's afflictions, when the party chose to rest. They had slain the Minotaur guardians and retrieved the amulet, but the elf was impatient to move on. Naturally curious, Deraphin detected a greenish hue that had taken their leader and asked Ulfric why he always wore his gloves, seemingly never removing them from his hands. Ulfric bluntly replied that it was none of the elf's business, and stalked off, ordering the party to follow or he would leave them there, in the dark. Shocked by this blatant aloofness and total lack of leadership, Aethys assumed an expression far grimmer than that of their leader, and, motioning the other elf to stay behind, he sat down, closed his eyes and relaxed his mind. Deep in concentration, he spoke to Deraphin.

'When you become more…accomplished with the powers of…magic, you will learn to recognise certain…entities.' They sat in darkness now, Maximus having followed Ulfric, and so the Elf Ranger Mage conjured up a spark of fire, to dance above their heads, scattering a bright nimbus of orange light around the clammy walls.

'Concentrate…do you sense it?'

Deraphin focused his energies, his mind reaching out to probe and investigate the Kislevite's hidden loyalties. Suddenly, he was hurled backwards by the power, and snapped open his eyes.

'He is tainted…corrupted by the Ruinous Powers!'

'The dealings with Von Rotundus must have made Ulfric contract a terrible disease, one that cannot be cured by ordinary means,' Aethys replied. 'Come, we must catch up with the others.'

The two elves rose and vanished into the darkness.

'You disappoint me, Ulfric,' the Pit Fighter faced the Kislevite in the middle of a narrow bridge, spanning a gorge that dropped into an endless abyss of blackness. 'You are not the leader I once knew.'

'You have not known me long, brute,' Ulfric spat back, his character clearly changing under the influence of the physical and mental disease. Long, greenish tentacles had sprouted from his gloves, and Ulfric knew he could no longer hide his dark secret. 'My lord is greater than your pitiful Sigmar, a version of who you saw in your damnable vision. My lord gives me increased strength and stamina, as well as extended life.'

'That will only be the case should you survive this vile encounter,' Aethys spoke from the far side of the bridge. The Kislevite span, enraged to see the two elves blocking his escape. Maximus took a step closer.

'Tell me, Ulfric, what would Kevlon be thinking right now? What would he think of such a…unfaithful, cowardly man who betrays all he believes in to take the side of plague?'

'Kevlon was a fool, he betrayed us all, and left us to our fate.'

'Not true,' Deraphin said coolly, 'he left you in charge, and now look how you repay us! Not with leadership, but with open betrayal! Your mask is shattered, human!'

The Kislevite snarled, revealing sharp teeth, and advanced upon the elves. The three warriors equally closed on their lost leader, steely determination etched upon their faces. Surrounded, and with little hope save pointless death, Ulfric stood tall and uttered a prayer to his lord.

'My lord, Nurgle, Master of Plague and Pestilence! Bring me power enough to defeat these unholy worshippers of folly!'

There was a buzzing of flies, and a coalescing of energy, as the air around the heroes became warm and sickly. Aethys felt like throwing up, and raising his head, saw the unearthly gleam in Ulfric's eyes. The Kislevite's tunic tore itself open, and foulness from the deepest Hells poured out like an avalanche of despair. Putrid slime and revolting pus and bile spilled from the Kislevite's innards, and with a laugh spawned of insanity the befouled man spread his arms wide.

'Come, my children,' he spoke in a deep voice that echoed with the bass tones of daemonic possession, 'come to Grandfather Nurgle…'

'Stay back!' Aethys shouted, 'If you touch him you are damned!'

Instinctively, the Pit Fighter backed off, and Deraphin sent a bolt of power slamming into the daemonhost. Unperturbed it continued its inexhaustible advance, trailing a tail of rot and pestilence in its wake. There was nothing Maximus could do nothing but watch in horror as the thing that was once Ulfric lifted its tentacle hands towards the elves. Magic power blasted the beast, knocking it back and searing its foetid limbs. But then the man's head split and changed, his eyes merging into one and a large, pointed horn thrusting its way up through his forehead.

'Fire arrows! Now!'

Deraphin unleashed a volley of flaming death. Covered in the refuse of magic and the oily liquids and slimes of the Plague God, Ulfric was set alight. It was soon turned into a walking torch, burning and screaming as it waddled back and forth, the cleansing flame consuming its terrible rot and corrupted body. The three warriors watched as their now befouled leader was destroyed in an explosion of fire, his horrid, flaming corpse plunging into the abyss with a devilish shriek.

Having returned to Ye Olde Dungeoneers Tavern, the Champions related their encounter with the daemonhost of the Lord of Decay to any that would listen. The times ahead would be challenging.


End file.
